


Disquiet Doubt

by Poochee



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Rush (2013)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Hurt/Comfort, Launt, M/M, Prompt Fill, Rathunt - Freeform, Teen and Up Just in Case, triggers and all that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poochee/pseuds/Poochee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The Brit is shaking, wringing his hands repeatedly, when Niki arrives. His blue eyes are wide and almost lost as he stares at his car a few yards away. It’s being tended to by a few mechanics, and from what Niki can see, it’s nothing serious. Still, James’ bottom lip is trembling as he tries to speak but nothing comes out, his car is ruined, surely, he thinks.</i>
</p>
<p>Prompt filled!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disquiet Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous asked: Niki having to deal with one of James anxiety attacks plllzzzz
> 
> this ship is filled with hurt/comfort, enjoy!

 

James had crashed.

Well, more like an accident. It wasn’t anything fatal, from what Niki had seen; his car hadn’t started burst into flames as it sat in the corner of the track. James had simply bumped into the railing during a sharp turn, before he could regain any sort of control ( _fucking piece of shit_ , Niki can already hear him complaining) of his misbehaving car. The wheel had been giving him trouble during the last race, too, if his complaints at home had meant anything, and although this was F3, they knew James couldn’t afford – literally – any kind of doubt in the workings of his car.

The financial troubles is why James throws up his stomach before every race. If it’s too big of an accident to fix, he’s done. That car is his  _life_ , it means everything to him, and because of that, Niki’s scared. He knows  _exactly_  what’s going to happen the very second James pulls himself out of his wrecked car.

When Niki leaves his own car, helmet abandoned on the seat, he’s jogging his way over to the little wreck.

The Brit is shaking, wringing his hands repeatedly, when Niki arrives. His blue eyes are wide and almost lost as he stares at his car a few yards away. It’s being tended to by a few mechanics, and from what Niki can see, it’s nothing serious. Still, James’ bottom lip is trembling as he tries to speak but nothing comes out, his car is ruined, surely, he thinks. Two girls have their hands on him, touching his face and cooing, treating him like a fucking baby, and Niki wants to rip them away from him and scream to get lost.

He doesn’t. Instead, he tells them politely to move away, give James some air, for fuck’s sake, and the second their eyes meet, James is curling into himself and sinking to his knees.

Niki doesn’t need to ask if it’s another attack, because it’s so painfully obvious in those frightened eyes.

When Niki kneels down in front of his Brit, he can hear James muttering about how big of a failure he’s going to be, how foolish he’s going to look to everyone, how his career is over before it’s even started, all while wiping at his eyes and trembling like a lost child.

“I’m just as fucked up as they say,” he whispers shakily when Niki moves to his side and wraps his arm around him, pulling his trembling form close.

“No, James, you’re not,” Niki mutters back, staring right at the Brit’s anxious face, ignoring the girls as they rush off, “You’re fine, your car is going to be fine, there is nothing to worry about...you know it’s all in your hea--”

James abruptly pulls away from the his side and begins to dry heave onto the track, curled into himself slightly, and Niki knows he has to get them out of here, as far away from the car as possible.

“James, come on,” he says firmly, lips pursed as he hauls his flatmate up to his feet, caught a little off guard when James leans against him. Their height difference has never been an advantage to Niki, and probably never will be, but it’s during times like these that Niki feels truly small. Still, he wraps the blond’s arm around his shoulders securely and helps him walk despite having legs that feel like jell-o.

“Nauseous,” James slurs softly, wiping the spit from his lower lip on his overalls' sleeve.

“I know.”

By the time Niki’s dragged them off the track, into the shade behind a random trailer away from things, James is flushed and sweat is beading on his forehead. He still looks lost, swallowing around his dry throat, so Niki begins to unzip the top of his overalls to help cool him off, uncaring about who may see.

This is about helping James, and nothing else. He has to make sure James is alright before they go to the podium.

“Niki,” he gasps sharply, suddenly beginning to clutch at his chest, wrinkling his t-shirt in his fist, and a new fear grips Niki for a split second.

“You asshole, you better not be having a fucking heart attack,” he whispers harshly, ignoring how his voice breaks as he begins to untuck James’ shirt from the bottom with his own trembling hands.

James shakes his head ‘no’ as he pulls the shirt from his torso, tossing it to the grass and leaning against the trailer’s cool side, running his trembling hands through his hair, so many times until a few strands of blond fall onto the grass and it’s no longer a calming motion.

“James--”

“Have to go back,” James turns his head and looks towards the direction of the track, even though it’s out of sight, “Car’s--” He takes only one step before Niki’s grabbing his arms and putting him back in his spot firmly, a frown set on his lips. Going back to the car means starting over, with James throwing up all over the track and sending himself into shock.

Niki’s not allowing that, ever. “No, you’re not going back until you’ve got a clear head,” he says, voice firm once more, because at least  _one_  of them has to be calm during this, dammit, “It’s being fixed, just focus on yourself--your breathing, like we practiced.” And he began to suck in a breath slowly, letting it out the same way after counting down in his head.

James attempts to do the same, inhaling deeply, but after a moment, his breath catches and he begins to hyperventilate as he’s bombarded with inner feelings of dread.

Niki reaches up to place his hands on the either side of his friend’s face, tilting James’ head down to get a better look at him.

“Look at me.”

James’ eyes are unfocused and Niki can see the thoughts rushing through his mind faster than the cars on the track.

“ _Look_  at me,” he tries again, sliding the pads of his thumbs along James’ cheekbones, and the comforting gesture brings the Brit back. Blue eyes now locked on his own, Niki instructs James on the breathing again, this time counting for him.

Slowly but surely, James’ breathing evens out, the blood drains from his face, and he stops shaking. He’s gently gripping Niki’s wrists now, staring down at him and breathing as the Austrian’s cool, calculated voice calmed him and kept him focused on the numbers.

How fitting. Niki counts and James breathes.

Thinking and living.

“My car’s okay?” He whispers after a moment, once he feels like himself again.

“Both you and your car are fine, James,” Niki mutters, saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He attempts to pull his hands away, but James holds onto his wrists and uses them to pull the brunet closer, thanking him under his breath repeatedly as he kisses Niki’s face and lips tenderly.

Although Niki’s face flushes immediately and he’s feeling embarrassed about being shown so much affection in public, he reminds himself that this is about James, about keeping this annoying prick happy and calm so that he can keep doing what he loves. It’s a favour more than anything, because without James, racing would be a lot more boring.

So, instead of pushing James away and telling him off, he wraps his arms loosely around the taller man and murmurs German nonsense against the Brit's smiling lips, satisfied with the soft chuckles he draws out.


End file.
